


Reborn As An Idol / When My Heart Touches Yours

by souerrl



Category: Original Work
Genre: Idols, Kind Of A Supernatural Aspect, Life Swap, M/M, MC Backstory Trigger Warning, MC Dies In The Beginning, MC Has A Hard Life, MC Wants To Be An Idol, ML Is A Famous Idol, Past Child Abuse, Reborn - Freeform, Reincarnation, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:36:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29876430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/souerrl/pseuds/souerrl
Summary: As the red intensity of blood slowly drowns out his vision, the sound of a restless crowd is eventually replaced by a piercing ringing.The vibrant red fades slowly to darkness as he feels his heart beg him to breathe.He opens his mouth as if to speak—but the poor young boy couldn't find the effort he desired.'I just wish...'He thinks to himself, death brushing a hand against his face.'.. I could've sung.. once more.'He takes his last breath, closing his eyes at the age of seventeen.He never thought he'd be able to open his eyes once more. Clean of blood, and living in the luxury he didn't exactly wish for, but welcomes nevertheless.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character





	Reborn As An Idol / When My Heart Touches Yours

**Author's Note:**

> AO3 isn't exactly the place you showcase your original characters and concepts, but I needed a place to write down a script draft of this story, so here it is
> 
> This is one of the many stories I'm going to turn into a webcomic because author can draw, yes.

In the last seconds of his life, Shinichi/Minjun Adrien Kim started to question how he ended up lying on the side of the road, he laid expressionless in a pool of blood.

"..." Just this morning, he got ready for school and part-time as if it was a regular day.  
  


6:00 AM: He woke up, did his usual morning routine, and left the house without so much as a disturbance.

7:15 AM: Get on the bus and commute to school.

7:45 AM: Arrive at school and prepare for class.

8:00 AM: Start classes and so on.

4:00 PM: Leave and head to his part-time job.

6:30 PM: Head home, stop by the grocery store to make dinner.

6:45 PM: Rethink the day over on the verge of death.  
  


It sounded like a pretty solid plan to him.

It took all Minjun had in him to continue breathing and keep his heart beating. After all, it was the only sign he had to know he was still alive. Regardless of the people crowding around him, hands shaking his arm and checking his pulse, he couldn't identify the sensations at all.

Not even the warmth of another person, nor the face of the woman that let her tears fall onto the pavement. Watching her with soulless eyes, he wanted to scoff at her. How foolish she was, wasting her tears and sadness on a teenage boy she doesn't know.. At least he _thinks_ she doesn't. He's lost recognition of everything around him by now.

He couldn't even feel the pain that had overtaken his body a few minutes ago. Minjun had grown numb to every sense. Vision, hearing, taste, touch, and smell. He was miserably robbed of them, left to die like an empty shell.  
  
_'This isn't too_ _bad.'_ He thought, already exhausted by just blinking. _'I won't have to live so pathetically anymore. Mom and dad will be rid of me.. Rid of the burden I am.'_ Minjun was always an emotionless person. He found feelings to be too troublesome, something he didn't desire or need in the first place.

How much longer must he lay here, wallowing in self-torture and disillusioning thoughts?..

.

. .

. . .

. .

.

Not very long, he guessed.

As the red intensity of blood slowly drowns out his vision, the sound of a restless crowd is eventually replaced in his head by a piercing ringing.  
  
The vibrant red fades slowly to darkness as he feels his heart starting to beg him to breathe.

For _his_ sake. For the sake of the people that _needed_ him.

... No.

For the sake of the people that greedily hoped to _feed off_ of him.  
  
He opens his mouth as if to speak—but the poor young boy couldn't find the effort he desired.  
  
_'I just wish...'_ He thinks to himself, death brushing a hand against his face. Or maybe it was that woman again. _'.. I could've sung.. once more.'_  
  
He takes his last breath, closing his eyes at the blossoming age of seventeen.

Minjun desperately opens his eyes.

He sits up in a soft bed, inhaling air so sharply and greedily that it sends him into a coughing fit.

After half a minute of shoving his mouth into the bend of his arm, he brushes the tips of his fingers against the fabric of his shirt.. And he doesn't recognize it. It's soft. Comfortable. Rich.. It's nothing like the clothes he has laying on the floor of his bedroom. It's easy to breathe in.  
  


"..." It's easy to _breathe_ in.  
  


His right-hand meets his throat, the left is gripping the blanket that was left so sweetly on top of him. As his hand moves down to his chest, he can feel the heavy rise and fall of his breathing pattern. Minjun could tell by his heartbeat—he was not anxious, nor was he calm.

He was confused.

Minjun should be dead.

The life that was his should have ended.

He did not want to die, but that didn't mean he wasn't _prepared_ to.

..

Finally getting out of the bed with violent movements, he moved around the room he was in rather cautiously. It was unrecognizable. He could tell by the scattered clothes on the floor and the layout of the place itself. No, it wasn't how the room was hard to walk around, that wasn't it. It's not like he was a neat person, he always left random items around his own bedroom without so much as a care in the world. What caught his interest was the constant brand names surrounding him. The clothes on the floor alone were enough to pay off for three years of house payments.

Whoever owned this house has money. And lots of it.

On the nightstand there were: empty cups of coffee, torn composition papers, pens with chewed caps, sunglasses, hairclips.. They were definitely _not_ a neat person. He moved towards the vanity, taking note of another mess. A makeup bag, makeup, school textbooks, jewelry, books, letters, keys, and.. just more stupid shit that didn't need to be named.

He picked up one of the textbooks, reading the title, and opening it to a bookmarked page.  
Minjun guessed they were homeschooled. Maybe even a personal tutor. They were studying the same subjects and lessons as he was, this could be a classmate of his.  
"..." But had he ever had a classmate as rich as this? Designer brands thrown and left on the floor as if they were garbage, diamond rings and necklaces laying next to ripped snack wrappers..  
He wasn't jealous, he was _intrigued._  
Had a celebrity saved him from his death?..  
Was it someone related to the poor unknown woman that cried whilst holding his hand?

Finally shutting the textbook, he walks back to the bed before accidentally stepping on something hard.  
He looks at the floor, reaching down for the item.  
A phone.  
Much better.  
This would at _least_ help him identify his 'savior' or whatever.

He turned it on.  
_Ah,_ of _course,_ it was password-protected.  
Reflexively, he typed in the password he used for his own phone.  
And out of pure coincidence, it unlocked.

The first thing he noticed was the wallpaper.  
It was.. him.  
But— _not_ him at the same time.  
Wallpaper-Minjun had flashy clothes, styled black hair with highlights of white streaks, and sharp brown eyes.  
Regular-Minjun wore one-dollar hoodies, shirts, and never styled his hair, let alone dyed any strands of hair in his life.

He stood still for a moment, realizing he'd never really looked at himself in the vanity's mirror properly.  
There weren't any bandages or signs of pain on him, or even blood interrupting his vision.  
Had he truly died?..

Minjun took a breath in, setting the phone on the bed as he walked towards the vanity, staring at himself.

.

. .

. . .

. .

.

There was the styled, messy, hair. The white streaks that stuck out. The sharpness of his gaze that used to have no signs of life in them.

His thought process was interrupted by a knock on the door and a voice—  
"Shin? Hyung, are you awake?"

He paused.  
Shin.  
Shinichi.  
His first name in Japan.  
Nobody had ever called him by it, he's been living in Korea for thirteen years after all.

"Shinjunie hyung?" The door swung open, their eyes meeting. A quick glance at the mess of the room, then at Minjun. Or 'Shinjunie' at the moment. "Ah—.. Shin, it's four in the afternoon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll give you a small description of Shinjun's (Shinichi/Minjun)'s appearance...
> 
> Regular Shinjun: Black, messy, and unkempt hair with bangs that usually hang in front of his eyes. He has dull brown eyes that don't even harbor a glint of hope in them. A diamond stud earring on each ear. Usually likes to wear a white face mask, but keeps it pulled down. An average build, 178 cm tall, usually just likes to wear his school uniform. He doesn't have a lot of money.
> 
> Present Shinjun: Black, messy yet styled, hair with half of his bangs swept to the side. There are two highlights of white in his hair, one in his bangs and the other behind his ear. Still has brown eyes, but his gaze is more sharp and attentive. And you can actually see them now. A diamond stud earring on each ear. Usually wears a white face mask and keeps it pulled down, but he takes pride in his face so he doesn't wear it as often as he used to. Average build, 178 cm tall, usually wears flashy and comfortable clothes. Or anything expensive and chic.

**Author's Note:**

> YUH


End file.
